


You'll Be on My Jockey Team

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Feels, Lapdance, M/M, PWP, Smut, Vague setting, striptease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 11:57:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7314331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>If you're horny, let's do it...</i>
</p>
<p>Len grinds his hips in the air and Mick can’t help but trace every curve of his package outlined by the pants. They might be slipping down his hips but they still cling to his sac and thighs like an obscenely wrapped present. Mick settles his hands on Len’s thighs, desperate to touch him somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll Be on My Jockey Team

**Author's Note:**

> random smut inspired by magic mike 2 and ginuwine's song pony--i highly recommend listening to that while reading this. not beta'd, enjoy!

“Lenny, y’r’drunk.”

Len laughs, which really only confirms Mick’s observation.

“ _Really_ drunk,” Mick adds as he practically melts into the recliner he sank into not long ago; the bottle of whiskey he’s been working on is nearly slipping from his fingertips as intoxication takes over. He feels heavy and warm and pleasant, even as he watches Len stumble drunkenly around the safe house. “Lenny, c’mon, sit. Take a load off.”

Len mumbles something, lips curling in a smile, and Mick figures there’s no use in arguing. He settles in and keeps watching as Len putters around for a while. Mick is just beginning to doze off, lulled by near-silence and alcohol, when the sharp cord of a heavy bassline startles him.

His eyes snap open to see Len has shed his parka and the cold fun, standing in his boots and black skinny pants with a sweater stretching across his torso obscenely. Mick tilts his head and Len mimics the motion, smirking.

“What’ya up to, Lenny?” Mick faintly recognizes the song that’s rumbling softly from the dusty stereo in the corner. It’s an older top-forty hit, one that used to play constantly until it faded off into relative obscurity. It’s got a heavy beat, one that screams _sex_ , and Len’s hips are swaying ever so slightly to the sound. Mick sits up a little straighter, intrigued. “Lenny…”

Len’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are half-lidded, and he’s definitely drunk if the way the scent of booze is clinging to his breathe is any indication. But his movements aren’t fumbling or messy, and his eyes, though nearly shut, are still bright with awareness and focus. Mick leans back only as Len leans over him; Mick keeps his hands in his lap and waits.

_I’m just a bachelor, I’m looking for a partner—someone who knows how to ride without even falling off._

Mick doesn’t even snort derisively, though he kind of wants to. This isn’t his type of music and definitely isn’t Len’s, but… well, when Len’s hips are moving like _that_ , Mick isn’t inclined to do anything to make it stop. Mick’s reclined at the perfect height to stare directly at Len’s hips and groin as they sway.

Slowly the sweater starts to inch up and away from the waistband of Len’s pants, exposing planes of white, defined, marred skin as it goes. Mick follows the hem of the sweater as it rises, takes a moment to appreciate the flush splattered on Len’s chest and the way Len’s nipples are pink and pert, until finally Len tosses the garment away and holds his arms out. Mick drinks in the sight—one he’s seen plenty of times before, but one he never tires of.

Len smirks again and runs his hands down his chest though the blush in his cheeks darkens and something like nerves tense his frame. Mick finally reaches out and meets Len’s hands at his belt, and they pause as the music keeps playing.

_If you’re horny, let’s do it—ride it, my pony_.

Mick grins and makes short work of Len’s belt. He yanks it away and tosses it aside as well. “Damn, Lenny,” Mick murmurs, “what’s gotten into you?”

Len shrugs even as his hips keep rolling to the beat of the song. He covers Mick’s hands with his own and squeezes. He opens his mouth as if to answer but no words come out.

“Not that I mind,” Mick assures. He grins up at Len, all teeth. “Y’know I love your body, Lenny.” Mick tugs him closer by the belt looks until Len stands neatly between Mick’s spread knees. “Gonna keep stripping for me? Or r’y’gonna give me a lapdance?”

Len sucks in a breath and when the nerves fade from his form he grins. He pushes at Mick’s shoulders until Mick is laying back in the chair again and Len has ample room to climb into his lap. The chair is large and plush and Len fits perfectly against Mick’s body, his knees pressed against either side of Mick’s hips and their bodies nearly touching from groin to chest.

_Just once if I have the chance, the things I will do to you._

Mick tries to lean forward and latch onto Len’s neck, but before he can Len’s hips start to writhe again. He keeps his hands on Mick’s shoulders for balance but otherwise sits up straight enough that their bodies feel miles apart. Len’s smirk stays firmly in place as he keeps thrusting his hips, his pants ever so slowly inching down with no belt to hold them up. Again, Mick is at the perfect vantage point to be nearly eyelevel with Len’s groin, and Mick’s mouth waters helplessly.

_Send chills up and down your spine, juices flowing down your thigh_.

Len grinds his hips in the air and Mick can’t help but trace every curve of his package outlined by the pants. They might be slipping down his hips but they still cling to his sac and thighs like an obscenely wrapped present. Mick settles his hands on Len’s thighs, desperate to touch him _somehow_.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity to Mick’s alcohol and lust-added mind, Len sinks down far enough to grind his hips against Mick’s weeping erection. Even with layers of pants and underwear separating them, the friction and heat is _perfect_ , and Mick throws his head back with a groan. Len’s hips never stop moving, swiveling as though he’s actually riding Mick’s cock—it wrings another moan from Mick’s lips at the thought.

“Fuck, Lenny,” Mick tries to speak again though he can barely think straight. The pressure of Len in his lap, squirming against him like some kind of pro, it’s nearly too much. “Fuck,” Mick says again as his cock jumps beneath his pants and boxers, drips of precome leaking out and smearing across his skin. It’s torture, the best kind, to be this close and still so far from actually _feeling_ Len.

“What do you want, Mick?” Len asks, voice sharp and husky.

_My saddle’s waiting, come and jump on it._

Mick’s fingers dig almost too hard into Len’s thighs. “Wanna watch you ride my cock, Lenny, fuck.”

Len hums as though contemplating that. “What if I just stayed like this?” He curves himself against Mick’s body like a cat, body stretching in all the right ways so their pressed together in all the right places. He ruts shamelessly against Mick’s body and Mick marvels that their bodies are still moving to the rhythm of the song, somehow, probably because Len is nowhere near as drunk as Mick evidently is.

“What if,” Len drawls, drawing all of Mick’s attention to his lips for the moment. “What if we just stayed right here, and came in our pants like a bunch of horny teenagers?”

There’s a glint in Len’s eyes that Mick has come to know well—a glint that means this is something Len has wanted for a while, something Len has been building up to. The curve of Len’s lips is tainted just slightly with nerves, and Mick knows this is Len’s way of _asking_ for it, asking for them to fumble and rut like they used to twenty-some odd years ago.

_If we’re gonna get nasty, babe, first we’ll show and tell_.

“C’mon, then, Lenny,” Mick bucks his hips up and their cocks drag together through the fabric. “Wanna watch you come in your pants,” he mimics in a deep and thick voice. He slides one hand from Len’s thigh to cup his ass and squeeze, push him closer so there’s no space between their cocks. Mick grinds his hips against Len’s, sinking further into the chair to get a better angle.

Len’s hips immediately start to move again and his breathe hitches desperately. His nails bite into Mick’s shoulders as he meets each thrust with one of his own. He drops his head back and lets out a stuttering moan—Mick watches reverently. Idly, he thinks how it’s probably been ten years since they kept their clothes on like this, even longer since Len was the one to initiate something new like this. Mick decides he likes it, _a lot_ , especially as Len’s whole body starts to stiffen.

“Gonna come, Lenny? Y’feel how hard my cock is for you?” Mick murmurs as he leans forward to nip at Len’s earlobe. “Like feeling how fucking hard you make me, huh? Like knowing you turn me on, don’t you?” Mick slips his hand beneath the waistband of Len’s pants to feel the flushed skin of his ass with no barrier.

_Lurk all over and through you baby, until I reach your stream._

Mick can feel his own orgasm approaching fast, the heat and pressure of Len’s dick against his own just enough to get him off. The friction, the heat, the seeming innocence of it all, Mick revels in it.

“Mick?” Len asks in a gasp. “M’close,” he hisses, back arching as though he could get any closer to Mick.

“Yeah?” Mick slides a finger between Len’s cheeks and teases the soft, puckered skin. “Y’should come, Lenny, all over yourself.” Mick turns his head and catches Len’s lips in a biting kiss and that tips Len over the edge.

Len comes with a shout, his hips speeding up for a split second as he thrusts helplessly, desperately against Mick’s body, needy for the friction to carry him through his orgasm. Len moans into the kiss and bites at Mick’s lips and begs, out of breath, “come on, Mick, come, you should come, want you to come.”

Mick does, mouth dropping open in a single drawn out grunt as his hips jump and rut against Len’s own softening prick a last few times. He grips Len’s ass with one hand and his thigh with the other and holds him closer, keeping him near so Mick and come against him, his pulsing cock spilling into his boxers. “Fuck, Len,” Mick groans as the tension unwinds and he collapses into the chair again.

Len grins, flushed and his mostly short hair sticking up at odd angles in a way that makes him look ridiculously young. Mick smiles back and hauls Len down for a kiss.

“Still don’t know what brought that on,” Mick mumbles into the kiss.

Len shrugs again. “Gotta keep the romance alive somehow, right?” He teases before pulling back with a final, chaste kiss. He sits back, still perched in Mick’s lap, and Mick’s eyes immediately drop to the wet spot that’s faintly staining the front of Len’s pants. Len quirks an eyebrow, especially when Mick doesn’t look up. “Jesus, Mick, don’t tell me you want to go again.”

Mick snickers. “Could always go another round with you, Lenny,” he says as he reaches out to undo Len’s button and zipper. Len hisses at the cold hair hitting his soft cock and drying come, and wiggles with discomfort. “’Sides,” Mick remarks as he snaps the band of Len’s underwear, “really oughta get you out of these wet clothes.”

It’s Mick’s turn to smirk as he latches his arms around Len’s waist and stands with only a little stumbling. Len’s legs wrap around Mick’s form obediently and his arms curl across Mick’s shoulders. Len licks his lips as Mick starts to move toward the safe house’s only bathroom. “What a gentleman,” he taunts.

Mick rolls his eyes and kicks open the door to the bathroom. “We’ll see if you’re still saying that when you’re riding my cock in a couple minutes.”

Len shivers. “What are you waiting for, then?”


End file.
